


Aggressive Storks

by Annakovsky



Category: FiveThirtyEight (Blog)
Genre: Aftermath, Bodyswap, F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Nonsense, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 22:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annakovsky/pseuds/Annakovsky
Summary: Micah Cohen: Curious about the #DNCinPHL or 2016 generally, send me q's -- we'll answer on our live blogClare Malone: @micahcohen where do babies come from?Micah Cohen: @ClareMalone aggresive storks-28 July 2016"Yeah, so, takeaways," Clare says. "If you're going to have a four-way orgy while you're body-swapped with your coworkers, probably using birth control is a good idea."





	

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

It is a testament to the frantic, exhausting slog of the 2016 Presidential campaign that Clare doesn't notice she's missed her period until she's missed two. And then it takes another couple of days for it to occur to her what the most obvious cause might be, probably because the event that may have set the whole thing off still feels like some kind of fever dream that surely could not have really happened.

But here she is: after a trek to the corner store at 11 pm on a Wednesday night she pees on a stick in her dingy Brooklyn bathroom, and waits one minute, tapping her fingers on the side of the tub and pretending she doesn't care what happens. And when she looks at the little icon in the window, well, there you have it: she's pregnant. That's… great. Dumpsterfire.gif. Which, she can't believe that's her first thought. Of all the hateful things in the world -- Harry crawling in her head and -- ugh.

So. She could get rid of it, she tells herself as she goes to bed and tries to sleep. That would probably be the smart thing to do -- she's young, she's single, it's unplanned, she _doesn't know who the father is_ , and the circumstances of conception were… strange, to say the least.

That is definitely the smart option, she thinks on the train commuting to the office, where she's going to have to see the three… anyway. Like, where does she actually see this going otherwise? She tries to imagine herself as a single mom, living with two roommates in Brooklyn, traveling to Iowa on a moment's notice for work, and the whole idea is very 'footage not found.' ... And yet.

Conceived at the DNC means the baby would be due toward the end of April, according to this internet calculator she found. Close to the beginning of the new administration. Which -- for a political reporter at a site that gets an awful lot more traffic during presidential campaigns than any other time, that's actually a pretty good time to have a baby, if one were going to have a baby. She travels a _lot_ during the general and a little during the midterms and not that much in between, and by April things will be settling down, so if she _were_ planning to have a baby this would be the time. The kid'll be three before the next presidential campaign picks up in earnest, and a lot easier to be away from for a couple days at a time.

She thinks about it for the rest of the week, all through the weekend, weighing the pros and cons, making lists, eating saltines to try to stave off the low-level nausea that she's been having for… well, weeks now, that she hadn't put together as being anything, dammit. And it's ridiculous, but ugh, the fact of the matter is, if she gets right down to it, no matter how pro-choice she is and how cool with abortion she is, when she thinks about actually going through with -- well. She may have been raised too Catholic to actually, personally get an abortion, is what it seems like this whole thing is coming down to. Which is distressing. But there it is. No point in not facing facts about it.

On Mondays a couple hours before the podcast, they have a quick meeting the four of them to go over the topics they're going to discuss, Jody with his detailed script, Nate sometimes with some additions. Today they finish a little early, and Clare makes herself seize the opportunity, the only time the four of them will be together without anyone listening in without her having to, like, somehow trick Harry into coming to a bar with them and somehow finagling it so that Jody doesn't invite Micah and Galen and Walt and the whole office. 

"Hey, uh, guys?" she says as they start closing their laptops, getting ready to go. "Can you hang on for a second?"

They all look at her, three inquisitive polite faces, and she makes herself say it flat out. No way to sugar coat it, no point in trying. "I'm pregnant."

For a second no one says anything, blinking. Then Nate blanches, his eyes widening. Jody starts saying, "Oh, that's great, congratulations! I didn't know you were dating anyb--" but then he suddenly breaks off as it sinks in. Harry looks a little bit sick. "Wait," Jody says weakly. "Are you -- do you mean -- uh… the convention?"

"Yeah," Clare says. 

"The, uh," Jody says. "The, uh, Freaky Friday situation."

"Yeah," Clare says.

"At the convention," Jody says. He's very pale, freckles standing out on his face, and he seems to be broken.

"Yeah," Clare says.

"When we --" Jody says, but apparently Nate's had enough. "Jesus, Jody, yes, the fucking convention," he says. 

Jody bristles. "You don't have to be a dick about it," he says. "I'm just --" He breaks off again and looks at Clare. "I -- not that this is the main point," he says. "But, uh, aren't you on birth control?" His voice cracks at the end of that sentence, and he clears his throat. He's going red in the face.

"Yeah…," Clare says slowly, trying hard not to look at Nate. "But with the, uh, Freaky Friday situation, it's possible... some pills may have gotten missed."

She's not looking at Nate, but Nate's not an idiot. "Shit," he says, going even paler. "I was supposed to be taking pills?"

"Believe me, after this I'm getting an IUD," Clare says.

"You didn't take her birth control while you were in her body?!" Jody says.

"I'm gay!" Nate says. "I never have to think about birth control! Why didn't someone tell me? And anyway, why didn't you guys wear condoms?"

"I --" Jody starts.

"Guys!" Clare says, interrupting them. Harry has still not said a word, sitting across from her hunching in on himself. "Uh, I don't think recriminations are particularly helpful. And of course our first thought was not about birth control while we were, you know, swapped into other bodies."

Nate looks like he seriously might throw up. The lines around Jody's mouth look really pronounced. 

"Anyway," Clare says. "I -- I am going to keep it, I think. So I just -- thought I should tell you. All."

Jody swallows noticeably. "I mean," he says. "Who's -- who's the father, do you think?"

Clare does an exaggerated shrug that she hopes conveys, uh, your guess is as good as mine. She was not even in this body when conception occurred, so! 

Nate clears his throat. "Uh, I mean, it's probably genetically Harry's," he says. He winces a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, based on… where everybody was. When they. Uh. Finished."

Clare can't help laughing a little bit. For some reason all of the guys melting down is making her feel a little more calm than she was a day or two ago -- though her laugh comes out a little bit hysterical, so maybe she's not actually that calm. But Nate was the one getting impregnated, so she guesses he would know, and that is _so insane_. "I thought you hated euphemisms, Nate," she says.

Nate runs his hand through his hair. "I know," he says. "I'm rattled."

"But I didn't --" Harry says, finally managing to speak. His voice comes out rough, and then he blinks. "Oh," he says and looks at Jody. Jody who was in Harry's body at the time of the convention.

Now Jody looks like he's about to be sick. "So you're saying," he says to Nate slowly, his voice higher pitched than usual. "That you and I conceived Harry and Clare's baby?"

"I mean, probably," Nate says. "Not definitely. Pre-come can also have sperm in it, so it could be genetically yours. Which would mean that Harry and I conceived your and Clare's baby. But it's more likely to be Harry's. Genetically. Based on. You know." Clare gets a flash of memory, the span of Harry's long naked back, him stretched on top of her own body. How weird it was to see herself getting fucked from the outside, her body but Nate's expressions and body language. Harry groaning as he came but somehow his voice having Jody's timbre.

"Oh my God," Jody says, dropping his head into his hands. 

"Yeah, so, takeaways," Clare says. "If you're going to have a four-way orgy while you're body-swapped with your coworkers, probably using birth control is a good idea."

Jody snorts out a laugh, muffled a little since his head is still buried.

"I mean, this is actually an interesting scenario," Nate says. "Academically. I don't think there's ever been a fetus before that arguably has four biological parents."

"Yes, super fucking interesting," Jody says, still muffled. "That's helpful, Nate, thanks."

"Never before that we know of," Harry says. "Who's to say this hasn't happened before? It's not like _we're_ going to make this public, after all, so who knows how many --"

God, they get off track. " _Anyway_ ," Clare interrupts, trying to rein them in. "I thought I should tell you guys. And I don't -- you know, expect anything. It's kind of no one's baby, if you think about it. I don't think anyone's, you know, responsible."

Nate looks at her very sharply. "Well, I strongly disagree with that," he says.

"So do I," says Harry.

"I'm the one who got you pregnant," Nate says, then makes a weird face as he hears that and realized it usually implies a very different action. "I mean. I'm the one who... got... pregnant? I guess Jody got you -- you know what I mean. If you think I'm not going to take financial and emotional responsibility for that…"

"Yeah," Harry says. 

They all look at Jody, who finally looks up. "What?" he says. "Oh yeah, obviously. Don't be ridiculous, Clare."

To her surprise, Clare's throat is getting tight and her eyes are prickling a little. It's just -- hormones, you know. It's an emotional time. She blinks. "Well… thanks," she says. "I… you guys are -- I mean. Just." Boy, she is not at her most articulate. She takes a deep breath and tries to settle herself. "Yeah. I appreciate that."

On their way out of the studio, Jody stops to give Clare a hug, his body solid and warm against hers, holding her tight. "We'll figure it out," he says, quiet in her ear. "I promise."

As they pull back, Harry pats Clare's shoulder awkwardly. "Yeah," he says. Nate's got his hands in his pockets and he looks like he wants to touch her too but doesn't quite know how to. Instead, he nods. "It's gonna be -- yeah," he says. "Yeah."

**

The next day, Nate messages Clare on Slack. _Drop by my office when you get a chance?_

Clare's pretty sure this is about the story she pitched on Ohio, and has that sinking feeling of the boss calling you into his office as she goes in.

"Oh, hey," Nate says, looking up. His hair is tufted up, which usually means he's been working on some bug in the code that required him to run his hand through his hair over and over for hours. "Good, you came by. You wanna close the door?"

Oh, geez, it must be bad if Nate's making her close the door. Clare thought Nate was on board with this story, but does he think the data doesn't back up --

"So yeah," Nate says as she sits down, door firmly closed. "How's ESPN's insurance working?"

Clare's head is deep in thoughts of whites-without-college-degrees-in-the-Rust-Belt, and Nate's question is so out of left field she gets mental whiplash for a second. She's not working on an article about insurance, so what…?

"Prenatal care-wise, I mean," Nate clarifies. 

Oh. _Ohhhhh._ "Um," Clare says. 

"When I was picking our insurance policies I tried to think about women's healthcare, like, I made sure birth control was covered," Nate says. He looks distressed. "But I'm not sure I paid enough attention to prenatal care, which frankly was idiotic of me, and --"

Oh, Nate. Sometimes Clare feels so fond of him. "I think it's fine," she says. "Everything seems covered, it's pretty normal. Just a co-pay, I think. My first appointment's not till next week though, so, yeah, I'm not even totally sure."

"Okay, good," Nate says. "I think -- I mean, I think I should take care of the co-pay though. And -- I could go with you. If you want. To pay it, and -- I mean, since I was the one who got pregnant."

Clare snorts a laugh at that, even though it's really not funny, and then Nate's surprised into a laugh too, and then Clare can't quite stop, so it takes a minute for her to get her composure back. "Um, I guess you did," she says, finally, when she can get the words out. "But -- I mean, that's really nice of you. But you don't have to." Even if maybe she wasn't looking forward to going alone, like some kind of harlot or whatever -- _not_ that there is anything wrong with being a single mom, Jesus, who gives a fuck, what kind of a thing is that to think. 

Maybe it comes across that Clare's saying no because she doesn't want to inconvenience him more than that she doesn't want him to come, because Nate says quietly, "I really have to insist." It's the same way if they all go out for drinks, Nate always gets the first round, and usually sneaks in the second one too, the way Nate buys them lunch pretty regularly, always aware that he's richer and more famous than any of the rest of them. Of _course_ he wants to pay for her prenatal care. She should've been expecting it. 

Clare shrugs, feeling her eyes start to prickle again, stupid hormones making her get emotional way too easily. She swallows. "Yeah," she says. "Okay. If you want."

Nate looks relieved, like he thought he'd really have to twist her arm to get her to accept the money. "Good," he says. 

"You ever been to the gynecologist before?" Clare says, because the funny side of this situation just cannot be avoided.

Nate laughs. "I haven't!" he says. "Though I did have a vagina for four whole days, so, you know, maybe I should have."

Yes, Nate has seen all her business. He has lived in it. That is so weird. "Oh, you're in for a treat," Clare says. 

**

The day after that, Wednesday, Harry Slacks her around noon. _craving corned beef,_ he types. _wanna get lunch at the deli?_

_Who all's going?_ she Slacks back a minute later. 

_me myself and i,_ is what comes back from Harry. 

They almost never go to lunch just the two of them, so this is very suspicious. She hopes he doesn't want to go to the doctor's appointment with her, because the position's been filled, and anyway Harry doesn't have any more money than she does. 

Harry is nervous and squirrelly on the walk over to the deli, distracted enough that even when she asks if he thinks it's going to be a very snowy winter, he doesn't perk up, just gives her some vague answer about almanacs that doesn't make a lot of sense and that she doesn't care enough about to ask follow up questions for.

"Okay, Enten," she finally says when they're sitting down with their sandwiches. Which he insisted on paying for. Seriously, what the fuck. "Spill. Why'd you ask me to lunch?"

"Why not?" Harry says, but he's a little red in the face. "I can't ask my friend and colleague Clare Malone to eat some Jewish deli with me because I enjoy her company?"

Clare rolls her eyes. "Harold," she says.

"How about those Mets?" Harry says, but his voice is all weird and shaky and nervous and it's the weakest attempt at a subject change Clare's ever heard in her life.

"You hate the Mets," Clare says. "You are being weird. Tell me why you're being weird or I'll text Micah and tell him you want to do a piece on how Trump's tweets affect the polls."

Harry's eyes actually widen in horror. "You wouldn't," he says.

Clare gets out her phone. "Try me," she says, keying in her passcode, acting like she's about to start a text.

"Clare!" Harry says. "But that's impossible! He tweets constantly, trying to find a correlation would be like --"

But Clare is starting to type with her thumbs. "Dear Micah," she says. "Harry says --"

"Augh, fine!" Harry says. When she looks at him, he is bright red, and starting to fumble at his jacket, like he's trying to find something in the inner pocket. "You take all the romance out of everything," he mumbles, quietly enough that she's pretty sure she misheard him. She must've misheard him.

"Romance?" she says, trying not to laugh, putting her phone back down. "Did you just say 'romance'?"

Harry comes out with a small velvet box, which -- wait, what?

"Clare," Harry says, and he sounds very, very serious, and _is that a fucking jewelry box?!?!_ "I know we didn't actually, you know, it's not actually, I mean, we weren't in these bodies, but still, it's my baby, probably, and I think --"

Oh God. Oh God. What is happening is dawning on Clare slowly and irrevocably, like watching -- a slow-motion car crash is cliche but Clare is too startled to think in anything other than cliches right now, sorry, Micah -- and there's nothing she can do to stop it. "Harry," she tries, weakly, but he's gotten too much momentum at this point, and Clare is so taken aback she feels paralyzed.

"Will you marry me?" Harry says. He's been looking at the ring box this whole time, but as he says it, he actually looks into her face, those dark eyes of his serious and vulnerable and staring right at her, and it's so intense it's ridiculous.

Jesus Christ. "Harry," Clare says, and her voice cracks a little and she feels like she's about to lose it in hysterical laughter or tears or… something. 

Harry opens the ring box, and the ring is -- it's gorgeous, actually, and it looks old, like, really -- like, _old_. "It was my grandmother's," he says. "She --"

"Okay, stop," Clare says, because -- this has to stop. His _grandmother's ring_. "Harry, just -- stop."

Harry looks at her, his forehead furrowing. "You don't want to marry me?" he says. He sounds a little wistful, but not very surprised -- more resigned than anything. It's how Harry's schtick of being terrible at dating gets when it veers out of being a schtick and into the place where you can see that it does actually make him a little sad. The little vulnerable nerd inside him who built up this collection of idiosyncrasies on purpose to make it seem like he's in on the joke.

Oh, Harry. "Do _you_ want to marry _me_?" Clare says. They haven't even actually slept together. This is insane. 

Harry shifts in his seat, looking away. "I don't --" he starts, and swallows, shrugging a little. "I don't want to have a child and not be married to his mother," he mumbles finally. "I wouldn't -- he won't even know me."

"Oh, Harry," Clare says.

Harry's staring at the table. "What if he looks like me?" he says. "What if he looks like --" He stops himself, then finishes with, "-- my family?"

Oh. His dad. Suddenly Clare feels terrible for him, even though he is being straight up ridiculous with this proposal stuff. Clare tries to deflect. "What makes you think it's going to be a boy?" she says.

"Well, I don't -- that's -- I didn't mean --" Harry says, starting to sputter that way he does when she's teasing him and he thinks maybe he _has_ been sexist, getting all flustered. It makes her laugh, and he frowns ostentatiously at her. "I will be perfectly happy with either a girl or a boy," he says prissily, which makes her laugh even more. 

The ring is still sitting on the table, though, ostentatious in its awfulness, and it has to be addressed. Clare tries to be kind, but firm. "I can't marry you," she says. "But Harry, of course this kid will know you. We'll work it out." Though -- just thinking about custody arrangements, which feel so far in the future they hadn't even crossed her mind yet, makes her exhausted. How _is_ this going to work? It'd be one thing if she and Harry had had an actual one-night stand, but there are _so many people_ involved in this, and she and Harry _didn't_ even, and oh God, what if she _does_ have a tiny miniature Harry Enten? At least Harry is good-looking, but just imagining having to wrangle a child-version of Harry makes her so exhausted she wants to take a nap that lasts forever. This whole situation is a nightmare.

Oh, God, Malone. Look on the bright side, maybe it'll be Jody's. 

(No -- no, that's not better, she could not stand that much frisbee. No child of hers! No weather camp, no frisbee camp, no debate club, just _back off, nerds_!)

(Fuck. She's fucked.)

**

Coming back from lunch, they run into Jody in the FiveThirtyEight lobby. "Oh, hey," he says to Clare. "I was just looking for you." Jesus, what now? If he wants to marry her or go to the gynecologist with her, those are both _off the table_. 

As Clare sighs, Jody seems to notice she and Harry are coming in together. "Where were you guys?" He looks a little… suspicious? Or, not suspicious, exactly. He just looks a little weird about it, not quite the normal good-natured, frank-faced Jody he usually is.

"Lunch," Clare says. 

"Oh," Jody says. "Together?"

Clare does not have the energy for this, if this is some kind of -- she doesn't even know what. Territorial competition over the baby. "Yeah," Clare says, not getting into it, and Harry, who has been morose ever since she told him she would not marry him, heads off towards his cube. He is exhausting. They are all exhausting. "What's up, Jody?"

Jody glances after Harry, but then seems to move on, getting more cheerful again. "I'm going on a snack run. You want me to grab you anything?"

She did just have lunch, so she's not hungry, but the low-level nausea she's always dealing with could use something. "Ginger ale?" she says.

"You got it," Jody says. 

Fifteen minutes later, he comes by her desk and quietly puts down a ginger ale, a bottle of Tums, the potato chips Clare likes, a Twix bar (her favorite), and a package of salted almonds. "Whoa," she says. "Um… thanks." That is… actually dead on for what she could use throughout the rest of the afternoon.

"No prob," Jody says, and squeezes her shoulder before wandering off in the direction of his own desk. He doesn't actually seem to be carrying any other snacks… but maybe he delivered them to everybody else first.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M AWARE THIS IS SUPER RIDICULOUS. It was ipsa's idea for a fic about a bodyswap foursome orgy -- and then it was my idea that it would be hilarious if no one wrote that fic, but there was a sequel where they got the consequences. Idk idk idk, I make bad decisions, including, doubtless, posting this as a WIP. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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